RAW RECRUIT - A Chink in the Armour
by lilidelafield
Summary: A RAW RECRUIT Story...THRUSH have discovered a rather large chink in the Ice prince's armour. Soon, everyone at UNCLE will know too. What will they all think of him then?


When Napoleon Solo and his new Russian partner, Illya Kuryakin arrived back in headquarters after a particularly trying mission and a narrow escape, everyone noticed.

They never seemed to creep in quietly, as did agents like Slate and Dancer; they seemed to sweep in, collecting spectators and gawpers even amongst the personnel of UNCLE, whom by now were used to the unexpected. They would come in covered in blood or bruises more often than not, often bickering between themselves; the familiar, reassuring banter of brothers who know that whatever may happen, they will always have each other. Since a mission failure on their part was extremely rare, their return, if made under their own power, was always cheerful, as though accompanied by the sound of invisible trumpets.

This time though, was different. It was, therefore, all the more unusual, as knowledge of their resounding success had reached headquarters long before they did themselves. For some reason, details of this affair had been classified, so that all the rank and file gleaned was the stark fact of their success against THRUSH. The hows and the whys remained restricted to members of sections one and two only.

No one noticed their return this time. The first was Wanda who happened to pass Napoleon Solo in the corridor just as he was about to enter Mister Waverley's office. He gave her a preoccupied nod, and entered the room. She had time to hear Waverly greet the CEA and to ask "Where is Mister Kuryakin?" before the door closed and she heard no more.

That one enquiry from Waverly was enough to set Wanda's mind working furiously. Kuryakin had not turned up for the post mission briefing with the chief, and Solo had walked passed her without even giving her a dazzling smile, let alone stop to proposition her. What had happened?

By the time Napoleon left Waverly's office, he could tell the place was abuzz about something. He hurried to his office to make a start on his mission report whilst the facts were all still clear in his mind, and found April Dancer sitting on his desk, her legs crossed alluringly.

"Is he alright?" She asked without preamble. Napoleon shook his head.

"No, but he will be."

"What happened?"

"THRUSH discovered one of Illya's few…weaknesses."

"Really? Am I allowed to ask how did he react?"

Napoleon gave a wafer-thin smile.

"I think Illya would prefer that you didn't. Although, I suspect the part that is bothering him the most is that now THRUSH have that information, they will be broadcasting it to their agents all over the globe…that means, of course…"

April nodded, her expression sympathetic.

"It means that UNCLE listening posts will pick up on it, and pretty soon that same information will be available to every uncle agent around the world."

Napoleon nodded.

"April, Illya's psyche testing when he first came…picked up on his…um… picked up on that particular weakness, but he aced the tests all the same without the need for any further action or testing."

She whistled impressed.

"Well whatever it is, it means that it is something he is already so well-tuned to dealing with, it should not impact his work. So, what's his trouble?"

Napoleon paused.

"I can't really answer that without breaking a confidence, April, sorry. Look, I'd better get started on this report. Would you do me a favour?"

"Of course, if I can."

"Stamp on any gossip that comes your way? Illya really does not need to deal with it right now."

April smiled and slipped off the desk.

"Will do, boss."

With a wave, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Downstairs in the gym, Illya was in a black vest and grey shorts, pounding a punchbag with ferocious intensity. Those around him saw the danger in his eyes and kept their distance. What it was that had made the Russian angry, they had no idea, but they had all learned through bitter experience to keep away from him in this mood. Any curious spectators did so from the other end of the room to minimize the chances of experiencing fallout.

Once Illya recognized that his bare knuckles had had all that they could stand for the time being, he switched to the running machine, and pounded away the miles, keeping his eyes fixed on the grey wall in front of him. His face was fixedly blank, but his eyes clearly said "Keep away!" to any who might have been tempted to ask him if he was alright?

It had been observed that even Alexander Waverly kept away from Illya in this mood, although no one was deceived into believing that it had anything to do with fear of the fierce Russian agent; rather, the knowledge that section two agents had the hardest job of all within the U.N.C.L.E and they needed to be able to release their frustrations from time to time without the added danger of assaulting the chief.

Only one man could approach Illya at times like this with any margin of safety, Napoleon Solo; and even he took care to tread carefully.

Once Napoleon had finished the report, signed it and filed it carefully awaiting his partner's signature, he sought out his missing partner in the one place he knew he would be. The gym.

He was greeted in the doorway by Jonah Watts, who was just winding a towel around his neck.

"Looking for your partner?"

Napoleon nodded.

"Is he still here?"

Watts nodded.

"He's been in here for three hours straight, man. Punchbag, runner, now he's on weights. What's he in training for?"

"You know how it is sometimes, Jonah. Punching the bag in here is less destructive than punching walls…or noses."

Jonah nodded.

"Gotcha. All the same boss, I'd keep your distance until he knows it's you. Paul Varney and Mark Slate both had narrow escapes earlier..."

Napoleon nodded and crossed the room until he spied his partner sitting astride a bench, pulling weights that Napoleon knew that he would have struggled with. Rather than speak, he stood just out of reach and watched, waiting patiently. Once his partner had paused, and looked up, he cocked an eyebrow.

"Punished yourself enough yet, partner?"

Illya shrugged, and Napoleon tossed him a towel which Illya used to mop up the sweat that was liberally coating his face.

"Get yourself a shower, and come with me. Beer and pizza…" he paused and grinned at the face his partner pulled. "Alright, _vodka_ and pizza, on me. I might even be able to find some of my aunt Amy's famous lemon meringue pie. Melts-in-the-mouth."

Too tired to argue, and aware that he would need diverting from himself this evening, Illya simply nodded, and stumbled off to the shower, Napoleon following.

As the two left the room, their fellow agents watched, many of them shaking their heads in admiration.

"To think I almost got kicked in the chin for standing almost within reach of that firebrand's left foot!" Paul Varney commented ruefully. "All I was going to do was ask if he was okay and did he want me to bring him a beaker of cold water! Mark here would have got himself a black eye if he hadn't dodged in time. But he follows Napoleon as meek as a lamb."

Mark Slate grinned.

"Napoleon knows better than to try and soothe Illya by offering him water! Didn't you hear him? He offered him food and vodka! That's the way to do it, Paul!"

"What is with Kuryakin today anyway, Mark? He obviously hasn't had any disagreements or anything, and their last mission was a howling success, so it can't be Waverly on his back either. What is that mad Russian so boiled up about?"

But no one had any answer for him. Yet.

Napoleon and Illya travelled to Napoleon's top floor apartment in silence, and as they went in, Illya seemed to visibly droop, like a wilting dandelion. He dropped into the luxurious sofa, whilst Napoleon watched for a moment, concerned. After a moment, he poured his friend a large vodka and handed it over, then picked up the telephone and ordered in the pizza. He sat on the arm of the chair, watching his friend down the vodka in one, then hold up the glass for a refill. Napoleon smiled.

"I'll give you the whole bottle after dinner, my friend, but for now I want you sober."

"Why? I'm happier when I'm drunk anyway."

"Because I need you to talk to me, and I want you to be in full control. I don't want you telling me anything because you've lost your inhibitions. I want you to talk to me because I am your friend, and your partner and you trust me."

"I _do_ trust you."

"Then tell me what you are feeling, my friend."

"You were there. You saw what happened."

"I remember, but I don't know how you are feeling."

"Can't you guess? They broke me, Napoleon, they broke me, and they know it. Soon the whole world will know it. THRUSH and UNCLE alike! They will all know that THRUSH threatened me and I choked!"

Illya turned away, and Napoleon waited, respecting his privacy until after a few silence seconds, Illya turned back, his eyes dry, but his face red.

"I always believed that I could handle anything! I thought my KGB training prepared me for anything that could happen to me here…but I was wrong!"

Napoleon said nothing, but waited until his friend was through punching the cushions, then said softly;

"Yes, you choked Illya, in the sense that you mean it, but believe me. They did _not_ break you."

Illya stared at him. Napoleon was there, he had witnessed the whole sorry fiasco. How could he think…? Napoleon never told lies. Illya knew that. Not to him. They had both sworn at the very start of their partnership never to lie to one another. Always to tell the truth. If Napoleon believed that he had not been broken, then it must be so, but Illya failed to see how that could be. He remembered the flames licking the ground around him, on every side, creeping closer and closer…he remembered the intense heat on his skin…

Realizing after the fact that he had been put through some cruelly ingenious THRUSH hallucination of being burned alive had only made his humiliation more complete. He remembered screaming with pain and fear, real tears coursing down his cheeks. He remembered in his real terror, reverting to Russian, temporarily forgetting his knowledge of English. He recalled with great shame, the THRUSH torturer asking him questions repeatedly, not letting him sleep. He had lain still in his straps, weeping and asking over and over for mama.

Through it all, Napoleon had remained gagged and chained to the wall, forced to watch his humiliation, and unable to do anything to help.

"Napoleon, I…"

Someone knocked on the door at that moment, and cursing under his breath, Napoleon hurried to answer it. He returned with three large pizzas. He handed two of the boxes to Illya and sat beside him with the third on his lap.

"Illya, do you remember what THRUSH were after from us?"

"Yes…Waverly's home address…the secret codes to headquarters secret entrance number two, and the key to UNCLE's communications codex..."

"And in order to persuade you to tell, they made you believe that you were being burned alive. But Illya my friend, you didn't tell them anything."

Illya hung his head.

"They didn't know about my…fear until I gave myself away by over-reacting. I heard one of them whispering `this one is terrified of the fire, crank it up and we'll get the lot out of him', and that's when it…" his voice cracked, and he looked up into his partner's warm brown eyes.

"I thought I had learned to hide it from everyone…even from myself, but they…are you sure I never told them anything? All I remember clearly is..." he paused, the memory evidently still a sore point.

Napoleon nodded.

"Weeping at torture doesn't mean they broke you, and regardless of whether that fire was real or imaginary, the truth is it was real to you, and still you stood up to it. You refused to give in to them. You should be proud of yourself."

"Proud? Of crying like a baby?"

"No, of knowing that even the fear of being burned alive did not make you give up UNCLE secrets, especially given that you have a phobic fear of fire, and _still_ you did not give in."

Illya was unsure how to answer, so he opened the top pizza box, took out a slice and started eating. As always, eating soothed his troubled soul. By the time he had finished his pizzas, he seemed considerably calmer, but still something seemed to nag at him. Napoleon saw it, and tried to soothe him further with a gargantuan slice of Aunt Amy's lemon meringue pie. He saw Illya's eyes open wide with appreciation, and he clearly enjoyed every bite.

"Thank you, Napoleon, for feeding me, and for trying to help."

Napoleon grinned.

"You make it sound like I have been feeding a pet cat, but you are very welcome."

He sat back and regarded his friend thoughtfully.

"Okay Illya, give. What is your real problem?"

Illya sighed.

"Soon, everyone will know that I am terrified of fire…they would laugh even louder if they knew I am half-Gypsy. How can any man with Gypsy blood be afraid of fire?"

"Any man would who has seen for himself the damage that fire can do…to either property or to people." Napoleon replied, hazarding a guess. He ignored Illya's startled response and continued without a pause, "What are you afraid of, Illya? People are already in awe of you. How do you think they would all react, if they knew you had stood up to THRUSH despite a threat of being burned alive? What if they then discovered that you were fire-phobic, and _still_ stood up to that threat? If anything, your stature as the Ice prince would become set in stone my friend, not melted."

Illya stared at him, looking torn. He clearly wanted to believe it. Napoleon retreated to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of beer for himself and the rest of Illya's vodka.

"Here you are, Illya, as promised." He smiled. "Day off tomorrow, by Waverly's order, so you can get as drunk as you like."

Illya took a swig from the bottle and sat for a long moment, staring into the distance.

"I remember something my Uncle Viktor used to say to me…that there was no true fear except for fear itself. Is that what has been bothering me? Am I more afraid of my own fear than I am of the fire?"

Napoleon wrinkled his brow for a moment, then shrugged.

"Possibly. It's not wrong to have fears, or to let them show my friend."

"Didn't you once tell me that field agents need to seem almost super-human?"

"Did I? I must have been drunk."

"You were, but it is the truth. I have seen the way everyone at headquarters looks at us…even at April."

"You're afraid that you will suddenly become human again because they see a chink in your armour? Illya, people admire you for your strengths…you're a crack shot, you are stronger and better at hand to hand fighting than your CEA, you speak more languages than many people knew existed…but that is not what raises you to superhuman. It's the weaknesses they see, the failures, the chinks and dents that appear in your armour, and the fact that they see you fight on despite it all and triumph. _That_ is what makes them wish that they could be more like you. It is _that_ which inspires people."

Illya sat for a moment, digesting it all, then he gave a quick sidelong smile.

"How did you learn to become so wise?"

Napoleon laughed outright.

"Actually, Illya, I didn't."

"You didn't? Then what…?"

"You remember meeting John Freeman? My first partner?"

Illya remembered visiting the old man with Napoleon as he lay dying. He nodded.

"Well John was a fountain of wisdom. I paraphrased the speech he gave me when the staff at HQ first found out that I had an irrational fear of ladybirds."

Illya's lips twitched.

" _Ladybirds?_ I cannot say I have had opportunity to notice that one. Did his speech work on you?"

Napoleon shook his head.

"No, I was even younger than you are, and even more hard-headed. I tortured myself for weeks until I eventually realized that no one actually cared."

Illya chuckled.

"And are you still afraid of ladybirds, Napoleon?"

"Terrified!" Napoleon replied, but Illya spotted the laughter in his eyes and grinned.

"Nice try, Napoleon, but you score top marks for effort. By the way, do you have any more of your Aunt Amy's delicious pie?"


End file.
